


Bubbles

by sparkle_shark



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkle_shark/pseuds/sparkle_shark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doug and Chell take a bath together, and have heart-to-heart chats while doing so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> I would put this under the categorization of word vomit. That is, I didn't really have any specific direction for it other than them bathin' it up together. I was just kind of writing as it came to me with no inner editor whatsoever. I still quite like how it turned out, though. C:

Doug peered into the room, watching his breath materialize as a faint, ghostly mist in front of him. The bathroom was freezing. The mirrors that lined the right wall of the corridor in front of them – the ones that were intact, at least – were covered in webs of glittery ice, too hazy to even garner a reflection of the stalls on the wall opposite them. It was silent, too, so much so that he could hear every drop of water as it splashed against the moldy tiled floor. The din of machinery was only that, not quite substantial enough to give any sort of comfort or familiarity. It was oppressive down here, and he hated it. He always had, but now it was worse, because it was more like a funeral home than a restroom. It wouldn't be a surprise to run into a pile of bones or an old corpse. Actually, it would be more surprising not to. Not the pleasantest of things to run into, but then Aperture was a dangerous place, and Doug was not unused to seeing bodies litter the halls.

Chell shuddered beside him, a white and orange blur in his peripheral vision. He turned to face her. She was cradling the Portal Gun to her chest, as if it gave off some kind of warmth. He didn't know if it did, since he had never held one before, or if she was just attempting to will it to. The way her fingers trembled against its smooth white shells hinted towards the latter.

"And we have to through here… why again?" she asked. He adjusted his Cube, which was slung on his back as usual, then turned back towards the bathroom. They stood on the threshold, the jarring in-between point with dingy beige behind them and sharp blue ahead.

"Because there's a door on the other side, and it's a lot faster than going all the way around," he said, rubbing his bony hands together. "It's not like it's a maze or anything. Let's just get it over with."

Reluctantly, she nodded. It would be worse for her, seeing as she only had her tank-tops to guard against the cold. He would have offered her his coat if they were going to be in here any longer than sixty seconds. He pinched his lips together and took an experimental step into the bathroom.

His shoe instantly slipped forward on the icy tile, and his grip on the wall was the only thing that kept him from making an ungraceful trip to the floor. Ignoring the embarrassing noises coming out of his mouth as he tried not to slide into the splits, he pulled himself up straight again. It didn't help that his shoes were so worn out – any semblance of traction was completely nonexistent. Slowly, he turned to Chell, his knuckles white.

"You okay there?" she said, looking far too cocky for her own good. He let out a strangled laugh, becoming aware of how much of his breath he had been holding.

"I'm not sure, to be honest."

Sparing him a grin, she crossed the threshold and spread her arms to either side. The metal bearings of her Long Fall Boots made an ugly scraping noise as she slid, but they also kept her much more balanced than he had been. She didn't wobble, didn't slip, didn't twist to one side flailing like a tossed aside ragdoll. She just made an elegant little circle and came sliding to a stop in front of him, her scarce warmth settling in the space between them. She looked up at him from under her long, dark lashes, raising an eyebrow in an amused, puzzled expression that sent pinpricks of electricity up his arms. It was the same she wore when faced with a challenge, or just before rolling her eyes at a particularly dreadful insult from GLaDOS.

"What?" he asked, his voice coming out weaker than he had anticipated.

"Do you know what you're doing?" she asked.

"Yeah!" he said, pulling himself up and planting his feet on the not-slippery carpet on his side of the threshold. "Do you not trust me? I've been here for years."

"Me, too." Her smirk turned coy, and she turned her head to the side. "Maybe I should be the leader for a while."

"No!" he cried, and then, after a moment, added more quietly, "I just mean, y'know, it's not… easy, trying to use the portal gun together—"

"I know, I know." She pushed herself away and down the length of the room, passing in front of the mirrors, which offered a vaguely Chell-shaped orange smudge in lieu of an actual image.

He felt a sudden sting of guilt. Chell was a good leader, and he did trust her. She just depended on the Portal Gun a bit more than was healthy. He was aware that, at any time, she could choose to leave and go her own way, where she didn't have to abide by rules like gravity. He didn't blame her. It was faster and more efficient to use the ASHPD, at least when one was alone. And they had both been alone long enough that if they were to part ways, none would be the wiser. The fact that she chose to stay made him feel something closer to happiness than he had felt in a long, long time. Still, he owed it to the both of them to let her lead for a while. It was selfish of him not to let her.

"Come on, Doug, what are you waiting for?" His Companion Cube's voice startled him out of his reverie.

"Nothing – nothing. Just got lost in my thoughts," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the beveled corner of the Cube. It took on a smug silence. He swallowed and put his foot on the floor again, letting it slide back and forth.

"Are you coming?" Chell called from somewhere in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm coming, just… give me a second!" he called back, staring hard at the floor. No matter how much mental preparation he gave himself, it wouldn't be enough. His heart would still lodge itself in his throat, his knees would still wobble, and his feet would still drift apart from each other like opposing magnets. By the time he got to her he would either be sitting, hoping his trousers hadn't frozen to the floor, or in some nearly anatomically impossible splits. And neither of them sounded like they would offer any forgiveness to his dignity. Humiliating himself in front of her was not something he ever wanted to have happen.

"If you take any longer she's going to go on without you," Cube said, seriousness underlying its sarcasm.

"Do you want to try?" he snapped.

"At least I wouldn't end up doing some silly dance."

"Oh, the joys of not having any legs," he said, gritting his teeth. He took a deep, stinging lungful of cold air, counted to three in his head, and then leaped across the threshold. The journey across the room was quick, and the entirety of it was spent sliding alarmingly fast and trying not to do so many spins that he slammed into the wall with his side or Companion Cube. Fortunately, he met the wall with his front, crashing into it with an unceremonious thud, and then proceeded to claw his way up to a standing position before his feet could get too out-of-control. Chell was to his left. The hallway to the exit was behind her, but she was too preoccupied with a door on the inside wall to notice.

"You okay?" she said, without looking at him.

"Just… fine," he gasped.

"Come here and check this out!" she said. He began pulling himself along the wall, which worked for about five seconds before his legs abruptly spread themselves and he was forced to double over and put his hands on the floor before he face-planted. So much for not making a fool of himself. Chell, finally deciding to look at him, started laughing. "Need some help?" she asked. She slid over and grabbed his forearm, pulling him up and steadying him, her grip firm. He managed a breathy laugh, mostly out of embarrassment, heat rushing into his cheeks. She just gave him a look, the kind of look a mother might give her clumsy child, before shuttling them both back to the door.

Doug recognized it immediately. It was a big metal monster of a thing, covered in the ages-old finger prints of the many people who had tried to crack its mysteries. There were so many rumors surrounding this door that he had given up trying to keep them straight long ago. Some people said it was where they kept the corpses of failed test subjects, or that there was an escape elevator inside, or it was where the cryogenically preserved body of Cave Johnson was waiting to be reanimated. Judging by the fact that the stench of decomposing flesh wasn't choking the air around them, it was definitely unlikely to be the former. Judging by the giant plaque screwed to it that read, "DO NOT ENTER UNLESS YOU ARE CAVE JOHNSON", the latter was beginning to look more and more like an actuality.

"Ah. This door," Doug said, memories flooding him.

"I've never seen it before," Chell said, knocking on it. The sound it gave was a deep, ominous, reverberating one.

"Everybody always wondered what was behind it, but nobody could ever get in because it needs a password." He gestured to the input device, which hung, somehow still operational, next to the door. "It hasn't been opened since Mr. Johnson's death. I'm surprised nobody ever tried to blow it up."

"Do you know the password?" she asked.

"Wha—You want to open it?" he asked. She nodded, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she did so.

"Don't you?"

He pursed his lips, one hand finding refuge on the back of his neck. "We should keep going…"

She almost interrupted him. "But we're probably never going to be around here again! Come on. Just a look, and then we'll go."

She bent down towards the input device, examining it. It was clear that she was going to stay here until she saw what was beyond this door, no matter what means it required. Her tenacity, although good for a great number of things, really did kick in at the worst times.

There was a flat, disapproving bzzt from the input device. The screen above it read "WRONG". Doug could almost hear the mocking tone of voice it would have delivered those words with if it had a voice. Chell huffed, staring at the little machine with a crease between her brows and a wrinkle on the edges of her nose. He felt a smile tug on his lips. Her expression was comical, like a little kid who was not happy with their parents.

"What did you try?" he asked.

"Lemons," she said, not focused on him anymore. He blinked. Lemons? There was some sort of reasoning behind that, right?

He wracked his brains, trying to remember anything that could help her. He had never been that interested in what was behind the door, but at the moment he just wanted to get out of here. It was freezing, he couldn't feel his fingers, and he was entirely too aware that he was having trouble tearing his gaze away from her lips, upon which she was letting her index finger tap to some unheard rhythm.

"Ah—his computer password was Tier3," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder while he righted himself again. She looked at him, confusion written all over her face.

"Should I—"

He shook his hand and his head. "Mm-mmm. Capitalized, T-I-E-R, number three."

Sighing, she punched in the numbers and hit Enter. A cheery-sounding beep came from the device, followed by a loud hiss as the door unlocked and swung open a couple inches. Chell beamed up at Doug and gave him an affectionate punch to the shoulder.

"Good job!" she said, pushing open the door.

The room on the other side was small, but not uncomfortable. It was even colder, though the tiles covering the walls and floor were a warm, peachy color which managed to disguise it somewhat. The ceiling was high, its recessed lights casting a harsh fluorescent sheen on everything below. There was a toilet and a sink, and above that a medicine cabinet with a mirrored front, but the most striking thing was the gigantic clawfoot bathtub in the center of the room. It was a weird mix of needless antique detail and straight, hard lines, and the pipes that supplied it were brass instead of the usual Aperture piping made of who-knew-what.

"Huh. Cave Johnson had his own private bathroom," Doug said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"With a bathtub," Chell said emphatically, shuffling into the room. Scrambling to stay upright, Doug pulled his Companion Cube off his back and set it between the door and its opening. He was far too used to the actively hostile machinery in Aperture to trust that the door wouldn't close behind them, and his Cube was made for jobs like this. Pushing himself off the wall, he slid towards Chell.

"We should really keep going," he said, crashing into her back and almost causing them both to flip forward into the tub. He peered over her head. Aside from a thick layer of dust, it was surprisingly clean.

"Alright. You keep going, and I'll catch up to you. I just want to see if it works," she said.

"And if it does?"

"If it does, I'm going to wash all this crap off me," she said, walking over to the other side of the tub and fixing him with a glare. He frowned. The prospect of a nice bath was inviting - he shuddered to think about how many years it had been since he'd had a proper one - but there were bigger, more important things to think about, like escaping. "If it makes you feel any better," she said between her grunting as she tried to twist the faucet handle, "I don't think this room is controlled by GLaDOS."

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Because these pipes look different than any of the other pipes here. I've never seen any like these before. I think they might be connected to a totally different line." At last, the handle gave way and water burst out of the faucet, rinsing the dust and debris down the drain. She was almost jumping up and down with excitement. Leaving the tub, she made her way over to the sink and opened the cabinet above it. It was filled with all sorts of stuff, from toothpaste and shaving cream to what appeared to be several glass test-tubes. Evidently Johnson had liked science so much he had even done it here… Or at least that was what Doug hoped those were for. Chell pulled out the plug for the drain and an unwrapped bar of soap, then returned to the tub.

"You can join if you want," she said, leaning over the edge to push the plug in. "Or you can go and I'll find you later. Or you can stand around like a scarecrow. Keep the birds out." She set the Portal Gun on the toilet. Doug cast his gaze to the floor, mostly out of reflex, as she began pulling off her clothes. He was not an easily aroused man, but something about seeing her naked seemed… strange. Too human for her. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. Several seconds of silence were broken by the sound of the water being stopped and her climbing into the bath. She let out an exaggerated "Ahhh" as she did so.

His limbs felt cold, a vibrant juxtaposition against his overly warm face. He balled his hands into fists, running his thumbs over his chapped and flaking knuckles. No matter how hard he tried to make himself go in any direction, his feet wouldn't move. Maybe his shoes had finally frozen to the floor.

The debate in his head was plenty more frenzied than it ought to have been. It was just a quick bath, after all. Yet he was uncomfortable about dilly-dallying, suspicious about the apparent safeness of this room, nervous about being naked in front of her. He wanted to get moving and get out of here. He was tired, hungry, fearful. He craved sunlight and the moon, rain and grass and things other than silicone, steel, and plastic. He needed intellectual stimulation, conversation with fellow humans, books and paper in his hands, and the taste of real food. He needed a life again. There was only so much a man could take.

When he got out of here (He was sorely tempted to say if he got out of here, but he had learned long ago that pessimism was a ball-and-chain in a place like Aperture) he was never going to look back. He was going to go far away, to somewhere he'd never been before, somewhere where nobody knew him. He was going to start anew in a place oblivious to the horrors he'd seen and the dark, gloomy name of Aperture. He had to get out of here. He could not die a rat in a maze.

Chell threw the wadded up soap wrapper at his face, pulling him back to the present. After watching it tumble away to the corner of the room, he looked at her. She wrinkled up her nose at him.

"Just wanted to make sure you were still here," she said.

At last, something inside Doug gave way. Despite the voice in his head advising him against it, telling him he would find something to regret about it, he wanted a bath. He wrung himself out and half-skated, half-walked over to her, stopping with his hands on the edge of the tub. With freezing, shaking fingers, he undid the buttons of his shirt and pulled it off, trying not to notice her staring. Even he didn't like seeing his own malnourished frame. He was all bones and pointy joints and weird hollows, and the harsh light was merciless. He kicked his shoes off, the tiles underfoot offering fresh, biting cold. Chell drew her knees up to her chest, made room for him as he tumbled into the bath and removed his trousers at almost the same time.

The water was painfully hot, and it offered no coverage. He mirrored her, pulling his knees up to his chest and crossing his legs in an attempt to be not quite so exposed. Several minutes of fidgeting and readjusting himself followed that, much to his frustration. He couldn't help but feel like she was judging him, scrutinizing every last detail of his too-skinny body, all his scars and nicks on display. She wasn't even looking at him anymore, but she had to be thinking about it. She was so beautiful, strong and tan and confident in her skin. She was just as much a warrior on the outside as she was on the inside, and it showed. He, on the other hand, was a quivering, ghostly-pale lump of flesh that moved only because his will to live managed to beat down his willingness to jump into the line of turret fire.

He was pathetic.

Doug put his hands on his face. The feeling of fresh water was nice, unfamiliar, a small blessing for his miserable state of mind. He sighed, long and heavy and rattling in his chest. What had happened? Where, in the last several minutes, had he tripped up and sent himself spiraling into a fit of self-pity? Why did thinking of freedom always make him so sad?

Something touched his knee, so gently that he almost didn't notice. He let his hands drop, opened his eyes, to find that it was Chell's hand. She was looking at him, her expression serious, that endearing crease between her brows again.

"Everything alright?" she asked, pulling away. He rested his chin on his knees, looking down into the water at his feet. He couldn't think of a way to answer her. She dipped the bar of soap into the water, lathering it up. "You know you can tell me if something is bothering you, Doug." Her voice was soft, unhurried. "We're all we've got. No use keeping it all bottled up inside."

He looked up at her. She was dragging the bar of soap over her arms and shoulders, her eyes closed. The film of dirt and grime that had covered her was slowly giving way, droplets darkening the water for a second or two before dissipating. His lungs ached, his limbs tingling as they acclimated to the temperature.

"I hate it here," he muttered. She paused, meeting his gaze. His chest tightened, breath hitching in his throat. Chell had a penetrating stare, the kind that seemed to drill right into his soul. It was unnerving.

"I think you'd be insane not to," she said, her voice catching at the last second as she realized her word choice. "Sorry."

Involuntarily, he smiled. "It's okay." He slipped his hands into the water and scratched at them. Without the layer of muck, his veins and wrinkles were thrown into sharp relief.

Chell pulled the elastic band out of her hair and ruffled it loose. Her hair was thick and wavy, tangled, and there was a strange welt where the band had been for so long. It was no surprise that the band itself snapped when she removed it, having gone rigid with disuse. She snorted and tossed it aside.

"We're gonna get out of here," she said. "I don't care how long it takes or how hard it is, but we're going to get out of here."

"It's already been so long—"

"And it'll be even longer, but—"

"We've tried so many things—"

"But there's still so much we haven't tried—"

"I'm just starting to lose hope—"

"You can't give up on me, Doug!" she said, scooting towards him. He almost drew away, but forced himself to remain still. She was close enough that he could feel her warmth, a faint presence compared to the bathwater, but it was still unequivocally hers, and it made his heart beat just a little bit harder. She shook her head, tossing her hands into the air. "We've been at this for way too long to just quit now! We can do this, I know we can. We can't give up!" She shifted again, raising herself up and leaning forward, grabbing his knee again with a much more meaningful grip than last time. "When I get out of here, I don't want to do it alone. I want you to be with me."

He swallowed hard. She returned to her side of the tub, still watching him, and he unfolded himself a little bit. "I don't want to be alone, either," he said. "I'm so sick and tired of being alone."

She tipped her head to the side as she scrubbed her neck. "Keep your chin up, Rattmann," she said.

There was a long moment of silence. The bar of soap was passed between them several times. Chell dunked her head under the water and came back up, flipping her hair and dousing him with water, causing both of them to laugh. It actually felt strange to be so clean again. He'd gotten used to all the filth, and now that he could feel his skin again it was kind of odd, like shedding some kind of gross exoskeleton.

Keep his chin up. Easier said than done, and she knew that. But then, he supposed, that was why they had each other. It was easier to remain positive when there was a shoulder to lean on and a friend to confide in. His Cube was fine company, but it just didn't compare to a fellow human.

"Hey, think you can get my back?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts. It took him a second to register her words, and then he nodded. She handed him the bar of soap and turned around, pulling her hair over one shoulder. He crawled forward, pulling the soap across her shoulder blades. It smelled weird, like it had smelled flowery at one time and now just smelled like sweet mildew. Still, it was better than sweat and grease. She set one hand on the back of her neck, twisting her hair around her fingers idly. "I hate it here, too," she said, catching him off-guard. His mind scrambled to catch up, recalling what he'd said that she was just now referencing. "What're we going to do when we get out?"

"Go away," he said, tracing abstract shapes onto her skin with his fingers. "Catch a boat or a plane and get as far away as possible. Forget it ever happened."

"What if it's… not like it was?" She looked at him over her shoulder. He shrugged.

"After this, I doubt there's anything we can't adapt to," Doug said, flattening his hand against her and rubbing his half-formed "art" into the water. He could feel the ridges of her spine under his palm, the dozens of threadlike creases where the remnants of long-healed wounds distorted her skin. They were so faint he wouldn't have noticed them had he not been touching them.

"But what if we can't?" Chell asked. "What if… this place has messed us up so bad that we can't go back to being normal?"

"There's always hermitization," he said quietly. She laughed.

"So you hate being alone, but you'd become a hermit?" she asked.

"Actually I meant more as a last resort," he said, rubbing her shoulders. She pursed her lips and turned around, facing him. He smiled.

"That's a lousy idea," she said, trying and failing to keep her expression serious. He let out a short, quiet laugh.

"It was just a suggestion," he said, pushing himself backwards and dipping his head under the water. He decided against splashing her, though she expectantly recoiled away, anyway. He laughed, louder this time.

"You look a lot different without the mane," she said. He pushed his hair out of his face and tried to wring the excess water out of his beard.

"Did Johnson keep a razor in that cabinet? I could just shave it all off. Be easier that way."

"I didn't see one," she said. After a couple of seconds, she added, "I like your beard, anyway. I don't think you should get rid of it."

"It's itchy," he said, scratching it. She pushed his hand away and scratched under his chin. He flinched and then leaned his head up, allowing her better access.

"Good Rattmann," she said, in a voice she probably talked to babies with. "Now speak."

He pushed her hand away, feeling another wave of heat color his cheeks. "Chell, come on…"

She just laughed, sinking lower into the water.

The rest of the bath, which didn't last long, was lighthearted. Most of it was spent in companionable silence, albeit with periods of chaotic splashing contests or leisurely conversation. They dressed quickly, which was difficult for several reasons (The floor and the temperature being the two most prominent ones), and tried to warm up with a random assortment of stretches and a varied amount of success. Chell tore the bottom off of her outer tank-top and tied her hair up with it. Doug checked in the cabinet for anything useful, though there was nothing. At last, they were ready. Doug hauled his Companion Cube into its sling and leaned against the doorway as Chell picked up the Portal Gun.

"It's weird to think that this is probably the last time anybody will ever be in this room," she said, stopping by his side. He buried his hands in his pockets, picking at a loose thread. Honestly, he didn't give a care in the world that this place would be abandoned after they left, but he could understand Chell's concern. It was a little bit surreal to think that they would be the last people to ever be here. After them, Aperture would be empty… forever. It was a heavy sort of feeling.

"Want to say a few words?" he teased. She smirked at him and shook her head, following him out to the hallway. He closed the door. The hiss and thump of it locking was a strangely cheerless sound. Maybe it really did know they would be the last people to use it. Doug caught Chell's gaze. She gave him a small nod. "You want to take the lead for a while?" he asked. Her eyes lit up.

"You know it," she said. With her free hand she grabbed his wrist and skated to the exit.


End file.
